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A little story that slightly miraculous. Journaling reads:When I was a very little girl,our family lived in a little townin Eastern Oregon called Vale.When I was 3 1/2, we moved toSouthern California. We visitedour old home and friends 2 yearslater on a brief vacation, butother than that, I never oncewent back to our old town. All of my siblings returned to Vale at one time or another, but not me.About ten years ago, Bruce, Annieand I drove Amy up to RexburgIdaho for college. After droppingher off, we decided to take adifferent route home. I thoughtthey might enjoy seeing my birth-place, and I wanted to see our oldhome again myself after so manyyears. When we pulled into Valefrom the East, we drove down intothe lovely farm valley that I hadn’t seen for nearly 50 years. I completely surprised myself whenI was able to navigate us straightto our old home. No maps, no directions.I simply followed some unknown innermap that lead us straight to the little yellow bungalow that you see in thisphoto. It’s said that we carry a map onour hearts of our childhood home,and I guess that’s so.Fonts: Old Typewriter, Wooden Nickel Black. All effects by me.
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